the best kisser in chinatown
by danisha sparks
Summary: racetrack+ a kissing bandit + chinese gangs. if little italy is a big secret, then chinatown is an even bigger one
1. a strategy and a secret

Note: as usual, this story is intertwined with my two previous stories," tiny dancer" and "homecoming". This picks up from where "tiny dancer" left off. Historically, this may be crap. I don't know whether a Chinatown existed at the time but I hope I can be forgiven for all inaccuracies. I'm just so in love with the idea I'm willing to risk a bet. (well, this IS a race fic, after all. :) )  
  
  
Chapter1- a strategy and a secret  
  
" 'ey race! Wait up will youse?"  
  
racetrack turned around and raised his eyebrows in surprise as his good friend and ex-selling partner pagan ran over to catch up with him. Dat's weird, he thought. Me and pagan ain't sold tahgeddah in a while. Not since she and jack hooked up, dat is. Wondah what changed her mind alla' sudden? "wheah's jack?" he said, in manner of greeting.  
  
Pagan smiled sheepishly. "we decided not tah sell tahgeddah," she said.  
  
"oh? Why's dat?" they started walking toward the loading dock. "not havin' any problems I hope?"  
  
"nah, it ain't dat," pagan said. "it's a sellin' strategy. Tawt it bettah if by day we split. It ain't right sellin' papes while we's holdin' hands alla' time- bad fah business."  
  
Racetrack nodded in agreement. Pagan and jack were still in that maddening "locked at the hip and lip" phase of their relationship. It's a wondah dose two could even stop gropin' at each udda long enough tah sell dem papes! He thought,giving her one of his toothy maniac grins. "knocked some sense in dat head'a yaws, huh?"  
  
"bettah dis way, methinks," pagan said. " 'sides, it gives me a reason tah miss him if I don't see him da whole day." She winked at race, shooting him a loaded look.  
  
Racetrack rolled his eyes and crossed himself just to tease pagan. I sweah!he thought. By day, jack and pagan may be hawkin' headlines separate, but by night, deys hawkin' somethin' else entirely. It's a wondah we's even be getting' any sleep wit' da way does two carry on! "so what am I huh?" racetrack said, feigning hurt. "a cold showah?"  
  
He ducked in case pagan's reflexes hit him in the arm. Instead, she draped an arm over him.  
  
"is dat any way tah tawk tah yah selling partner?"  
  
"EX- sellin' partner," he corrected. " in case youse fahgot." Ex- selling partner, among other EX's in between, of which pagan had absolutely no knowledge of, and at this point, will never know.  
  
Racetrack used to have a crush on her, way back when she had started selling papes with the manhattan boys. Racetrack would never admit it now, least of all to pagan, but it had been her quirkiness that had drawn him to her. She would join him on the ledge of the newsie lodging house for an after supper/ before bedtime smoke, for one. They'd spent many nights just talking and joking. He never had to watch his mouth around her or nuttin' - even if she was a girl.  
  
Looks-wise, now that race thought about it in retrospect, she wasn't that stunning. After all, how stunning could a girl get in loose clothing- dirty pants, boys' shirts and that coat she insisted on wearing all the time? But she had lovely eyes that sparkled with mischief, and a mouth he found almost irresistible ( dat lucky bum jack!) and...race had to lean and check to be sure he wasn't imagining it- rather nicely shaped breasts. It wasn't that hard imagining her in a dress...it wasn't hard imagining her out of it, either.  
  
Flushing, race fanned himself with his cap. Stop t'inkin' dis way! He thought. she ain't your goil, she's jack's. what's more, she's yah FRIEND! friend, got it?  
  
"what's it gonna be, race?" pagan asked. "yah know yah miss sellin' wit' me." She smiled up at him. " I miss sellin' wit'chu..."  
  
it took him a minute to come up with an answer. "why not?" he said, relenting. Aw geez, ise still a sucker f'dat smile.  



	2. through the arch

Chapter2- through the arch  
  
  
" so wheah's our spot?" racetrack asked.  
  
"I dunno," pagan said. "ise feelin' dangerous. Been considerin' settin' up a partnership in Chinatown."  
  
"huh? Wheah?" Chinatown, where's that? It sounded dangerous, all right. This was the first time racetrack ever heard of the place, if such a place existed.  
  
"you game?" pagan challenged, catching the bewildered look on race's face.  
  
"got my attention," race said.  
  
If little italy was a big secret, then "Chinatown" was an even bigger one. It did exist, but it was difficult to find; and if you were hapless enough to have wandered accidentally into it, it was even harder to find your way out of it. Only a handful of newsies really knew where it was, and those who did simply refused to talk about it. "Chinatown" had almost as many myths surrounding it as Brooklyn.( Of course, brooklyn's newsie contingent was legendary. The mere mention of it was enough to strike fear in the heart of any newsie, especially if that newsie was no friend of spot conlon's.) since nobody really knew about "Chinatown", nobody could say for sure whose turf it was, but racetrack had the feeling that pagan already knew.  
  
"it's a small community," pagan explained. "small, but very close-knit. Youse gotta be outta yah wits or just plain stupid to go dere not knowin' no one from the inside."  
  
After passing through numerous winding alleyways, they came upon an imposing arch with red dragons on its crest. It didn't take a genius to know that they had reached their destination. True enough, on the other side of the arch was a village bustling with activity. Children were running around playing, merchants were lugging their wares. It looked like downtown manhattan and it sounded like downtown manhattan, except, everywhere that racetrack looked were pale faces and slit eyes. He felt like a foreign land had opened up before his eyes and he was only a couple of steps away from crossing over to it.  
  
  
A familiar aroma attacked his senses as pagan led the way through the arch. horse manure. There was no mistaking it. At least there's a familiar element! He thought, ignoring the stares they were producing from the locals.  
  
"why do I get the feeling we's bein' watched?" he asked.  
  
"cause we are." Was pagan's succinct answer. "stay close tah me, race. We ain't in manhattan no more."  
  
Racetrack was far too entranced by the sights around him to pay much attention to pagan's last statement. By the sidewalk, vendors sold their curio- gold-plated lamps, figurines of fat little men, masks, paper lanterns and bottles filled with murky liquid and various dubious herbs.  
  
In dark corridors, old men in sleeveless undershirts sat huddled around small square tables. Blocks of ivory spread before them made crunching noises as they mixed them around.  
  
What a strange game...racetrack thought. His eyes were glued to the players. Coins were being tossed about this way and that over the table. The sight was enough to reel him in, for although he understood not a single word that was being exchanged by the players, the language of gambling was a language he understood only too well.   
  
He continued to gawk, eyes darting around, trying to understand the object of the game. " 'ey, pagan, lookit dis- pagan?"  
  
He'd lost her! Where was she? She was just walking ahead of him moments ago. She couldn't have gotten that far, he thought sauntering into an alley.  
  
Racetrack had the nagging feeling he was being followed and so could not avoid shooting nervous glances behind him every so often. There was nothing worse than losing yourself in a strange place-  
  
"OW!"  
  
-except being found in a strange place by an even stranger person.  
  
Race stepped back to see who he had collided with.  
  
In front of him stood a Chinese boy wearing a sleeveless undershirt and a sneer. His words came out in bullets as he backed race up against a wall.  
  
Oh sweet jesus! Race thought. Ise a goner fah sure! "please don't hoit me!" he shouted, closing his eyes, crouching low in fear and surrender. He braced himself for some kind of sharp blow to the head, which never came.  
  
A voice called out from the opening of the alley. Race heard someone call out his name. Opening one eye, he saw pagan running toward him with a tall, thin, young Chinese man.  
  
Race's knees buckled from beneath him. Weak with relief at the intervention, he leapt up away from his "attacker".   
  
"we gotta scram!" he yelled, pulling pagan away from the two Chinese boys, who had started yelling at each other.  
  
"wha- wait! but- we just got here!" she protested.  
  
"yeah, well ise almost got whacked!" race shot back, almost tearing her shirt off. "let's go!" his eyes widened with refreshed horror as his "attacker" flew over to where they were standing. Just as race was about to duck, anticipating a death blow, the boy had grabbed pagan from behind, lifted her up and started to swing her around.  
  
Pagan screamed. Racetrack didn't know whether to fight him or to run away. So he stood there, rooted to his spot. Then he realized pagan wasn't only screaming- she was also laughing!  
  
"put me down!" she screamed. "put me down! fourth leeeeeeeeee!"  
  
fourth lee set pagan back on the ground and said something to her in chinese. To race's ever growing awe, pagan answered in English. "yeah, yeah, I know. Hey, youse gave me friend racetrack quite a scare."  
  
Fourth lee scratched the back of his head guiltily. "oh...yeah," he said, without a trace of an accent. He looked at racetrack, who was still recovering from the shock of it all. " sorry 'bout dat." A small laugh escaped him. "ise fourth. Dis heah's me brudda, profit."  
  
The taller boy held up his hand in greeting. "fourth here goes crazy sometimes," he said, also without an accent. "he loves messin' around wit' youse white ghosts. No offense."  
  
"none taken," racetrack replied.  
  
Fourth lee giggled again and squeezed pagan's arm affectionately. he said something else to her in Chinese, which made pagan swipe at fourth in annoyance. "shut up!" she said.  
  
Quirky, he thought. dat girl chucked out as many surprises as a magician's hat. Oh boy, this is toinin' out tah be a really interesting day...  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. 

Chapter3- security  
  
  
Fourth lee considered pagan's proposal carefully. "a partnership huh?" he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. They were sitting in fourth and profit lee's uncle's noodle restaurant, discussing business over steamed dimsum and dumplings. fourth turned to his brother and consulted with him in native tongue while pagan and race waited patiently.   
  
Profit lee was younger than fourth by about two years, but fourth never made any move without profit's approval. He wasn't given the nickname for nothing- profit knew his business. The boy ran around doing odd jobs wherever he could find them- no job was ever too small or too strange. If any occasion promised a buck, profit was sure to be at the very front of the line. Racetrack sure could use someone like profit by his side. He was more quiet than fourth, who was hyper and scattered, but racetrack could tell that behind the unassuming demeanor was a shrewd mind. The brothers balanced each other out quite nicely and worked well as a team.  
  
"my brudda here's consoined ovah a coupla t'ings," fourth said. He held up a hand and rubbed two fingers together. "money. Wheah does it come in?"  
  
"you can take our spots on soiten days," pagan said not missing a beat. " meanwhile, we gets permission tah sell dah woild and local papes heah .what's more, we get days off. Me and race and you and prof. We's split dah difference and we all be happy."   
  
"it's gotta be 50/50," profit said. " even steven or no dice."  
  
Racetrack was liking profit every second that passed by. Maybe he could be my adviser or somet'in...he erased the idea as quickly as he thought of it. He'd probably want tah get paid for it. Bad idea, race.  
  
Fourth nodded. " how can I be sure we ain't gonna get beat up?" a defensive look crossed over his face. " some'a youse ain't too hot about us 'chinks' crossin' ovah yaw side of dah arch."  
  
"you ain't gonna get soaked," pagan reassured him. " ise tellin' da boys in da lowah east side, don't worry 'bout dat. Ise got yah back covered. just make sure yah ain't crossin' ovah tah Brooklyn."  
  
Racetrack cleared his throat. Fourth glanced over to him, "why's dat?"  
  
"you cross ovah tah Brooklyn, it's outta our jurisdiction." Pagan said.  
  
"my English ain't too hot, santos," fourth said. " run dat by me again."  
  
"it means it's outta our hands, fourth," pagan said, blanching at what fourth called her. It was too fast for racetrack to catch. " it ain't our territory."  
  
Fourth leaned back in his seat. "yeah? Whose is it, den?"  
  
"it's spot's," racetrack explained. " spot conlon's. you don't mess wit' him or his gang."  
  
Fourth laughed. "spot huh? Yeah, hoid about dat guy somewheah," he said. " a'right. I can respect dat. So we got your cawnahs, 'cept Brooklyn?"  
  
"you got it, fourth," pagan said. " if we can sell here."  
  
"youse keen on sellin' heah, san-er- pagan," fourth said. "why?"  
  
pagan smiled. " cause I like dumplings," she said cryptically. Fourth smiled, understanding perfectly. It must have been a code or something cause racetrack didn't know what in sam hell pagan was talking about.  
  
"you still on dat stuff, huh?" fourth said, glancing once again at racetrack.   
  
"no," pagan said, a little too quickly. She blushed. "no, fourth. I ain't. ise clean."  
  
Fourth shook his head, as if he didn't really believe her, but was giving her the benefit of the doubt. " you got our backs?"  
  
Pagan nodded. " you got ours?"  
  
Fourth and profit nodded. Fourth extended his hand.  
  
Pagan spat in hers.  
  
"what's dis?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.  
  
"security," pagan said.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. 

Chapter4- way of the fourth and profit  
  
Note: I checked it out. Apparently, Chinatown was around at the time. The lower east side was a melting pot for all ethnic backgrounds. happy! Heeheehee!!!  
fourth lee's name is used without his permission. :)  
  
It was decided that for a dry-run, pagan would team up with fourth and race would team up with profit. If that went well, their partnership would be sealed. Word would be spread among the newsies in manhattan about pagan's new alliance before the "crossover". fourth would also take care of business inside the arch. Each team-up would orient the other about his territories, and at the same time, compare notes on selling techniques. Racetrack looked forward to selling with profit. And besides, fourth made him a bit nervous. Kinda reminds me'a spot, he thought. fourth was like a Chinese spot conlon, except that he wasn't strictly a newsie.  
  
Among the manhattan newsies, jack Kelly was considered the best. Most of them learned all about being a newsie from him. Learn from jack, learn from the best, it's been said. Jack's style was a mixture of honest-to-goodness hard work with a little bit of improvisation. Cowboy always did like to pretend.   
  
Profit on the other hand, although this being his first time selling papes, was a fast learner. He liked to pretend as well, but his idea of "improving the truth" was exploiting his ethnicity and wringing it for what it was worth. Sort of like their old friend crutchy, jack's former bunkmate. A real crip, he played it up to his advantage and worried all the time about whether he was being out-cripped by the fake cripples. Profit had no such worries.   
  
Racetrack stepped back to watch the kid in action as he sold his first batch of papes. " foist t'ing ya gotta loin," racetrack said, reciting the newsie credo: " headlines don't sell papes. Newsies sell papes."  
  
Profit perused the headline and wrinkled his nose. " damn right," he muttered.   
  
Profit was a good actor, too. He was great. He played up his being Chinese so much, racetrack sometimes had to bite into his hat to keep from laughing.   
  
"bes' pwice on'y po' you!" profit would say, waving his pape at any unsuspecting prospective client. He conveniently slipped into extreme oriental mode and pretended not to understand any English. " a vely vely goot mo'nin to you too, sah!" he would say, bowing in "gratitude", before speeding off without even returning change.  
  
  
  
  
  
Back in Chinatown, fourth lee was busy showing pagan around and teaching her the ropes. He showed her where the new york world would sell like hotcakes, and she showed her where locals papes were preferred. More importantly, he showed her where to get the best food and shed some light on possibly the weirdest Chinatown myth of all. Meow burgers, fourth called it, made from what else? Well it ain't cow, that's for sure.  
  
"see this street," fourth said, maneuvering his way towards a row of hardware stores. " Ise wanna show youse someti'n. it's peaceful, harmonious competition. No client stealin'." A group of men stood around talking in one corner, and that's when fourth steered her clear. "but, best if we avoid those guys," he said, crouching low.  
  
"why?" pagan asked. " who are they?"  
  
"ever heard of the tong wars?" fourth said. " big t'ing happened sometime last year. Majah gang war. I ain't seen no one that crossed them that got out of here alive."   
  
" I prefer not to associate with them altogether," fourth said. " a little protection is one thing, but when you spend the rest of your life owing some dragon for their so called protection, bye-bye freedom." He looked at her pointedly. " so don't evah try screwin' around wit' 'em, y'heah?"  
  
"how would I screw wit' dem?" pagan asked.   
  
Fourth put a hand on her shoulder. " you never go to them for any favors."   
  
  
  
  
  
The red light district. Fourth was friendly with the red lotus girls. His ex-girlfriend had been a red lotus before getting mixed up with the dragons.   
  
The red lotus was a run-down building, much like kloppman's lodging house, except here, rooms were rented out not by the day, but by the hour. It was run by an aging transsexual named madame Vivienne. Not many of the girls could read or speak in English, so pagan decided it might be worth spending time to teach them the language through the papes she sold madame Vivienne, who, pagan was almost sure, miss medda larkson would adore.  
  
For a whorehouse, it wasn't a bad place, really. The girls were taken care of, were provided shelter and clothing and were given a meal allowance. Most of them were quite shy and sweet, unlike most girls around that area. Blink would like it here, pagan thought. So would skittery, actually.  
  
"please teach us to talk English," one of them, a girl who went by the name ming-na said to pagan haltingly.   
  
"I will," pagan said. If it gets youse outta here, so help me god, I will.  
  
  
  
  
Racetrack couldn't help himself- he had to bring profit to the races. He needed profit's expert opinion.  
  
"and you never won a bet in your entire life?" profit was saying to race as they entered the tracks. The boy whistled incredulously at the most pathetic better he has ever met.   
  
"got a hot tip on mary queen'a scots right dere!" racetrack said, pointing towards an old filly who was struggling to keep up with the rest of the horses on the track.  
  
"what, youse nuts, race?" profit snorted, putting his feet up on the seats. " she ain't gonna win, not by a longshot, sorry tah disappoint yah."  
  
Here it comes, racetrack thought. For years he had wondered why the horses he bet on never won.   
  
"how can yah tell?"  
  
" I can see why from wheah we's at," profit said. " lookit her mout' f'god's sake!" he shook his head. "dat horse ain't well."  
  
Racetrack squinted and tried to see what profit saw from a mile away.  
  
"she's foamin' at da mout'," profit explained patiently.   
  
"so?" race said. "dat's normal, ain't it?"  
  
"it's normal a'right if youse ain't feedin' her propah!" profit said. "what dey feedin' dem horses here, race?" he shook his head. "yah wastin' yah goddamn money."  
  
"Ise aware," race replied. "so uh.. who should I bet on next?"  
  
  
  
  
  
Racetrack and profit made their way back to Chinatown. They had a considerable amount of money, but the splitting of profits would be done when pagan and fourth joined them. Taking another route back to the arch, racetrack looked around and noticed that they were passing by a different route than the one he and pagan used when she brought him there the day before.   
  
"you never been to Chinatown before?" profit asked race as race walked double time to keep up with the tall boy.  
  
"never seen it up close til yestaday" race said, not wanting to show his ignorance to profit. That would be showing a weakness, and race wasn't about to do that.  
  
"so, uh" profit said, a small grin playing at the side of his mouth. " you never knew before dat my people and yaw people are actually, how shall I say… neighbors?"  
  
racetrack looked around, disoriented. He knew the place they were passing though, but felt displaced because they had taken a different route. Profit was smiling at him, waiting for race to figure it out for himself. And that's when it clicked into place. He knew why the place was so disorientingly familiar.  
  
Chinatown was right next door to little italy.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. 

Chapter5- the red diary  
  
Historian's note: "the red diary", the journal of an unknown Chinese maiden first made its appearance in 1915. shortly after its publication, it was banned for its somewhat "obscene" content and all copies were destroyed. the original draft was recently recovered by a solicitor whose name was requested to be withheld for purposes of protection. the following is an excerpt taken from "the red diary". It is translated directly from Cantonese and appears here in its complete form, except where omitted by the author.   
("black lace", paris, may 6, 1922)  
  
  
mistress gave me this notebook for me to practice writing in English; but my spelling is so bad i am embarrassed to look at the words. ( I realize that this is precisely the purpose of PRACTICE, but still...) the pages of this notebook are so clean and white that it makes me want to use it for other things.  
  
I shall strike a deal with myself now. For every entry I write in native tongue, I shall fill two pages practicing vocabulary and spelling. Sounds fair enough, and so I shall practice later...  
  
When I speak in English it is not that bad. I can construct simple sentences ( but with some difficulty) and can now distinguish when to use the words "he/she", "him/her" , "they/them" and "it".   
  
Mistress urges us to read often the American newspapers she buys everyday to familiarize ourselves with proper speech construction. I would rather talk than read or write, but mistress discourages consorting with the boy who brings us the newspaper. ( how come when I read the newspaper, it is different form how that boy speaks?) truly, I still have much to learn.   
  
About that boy. I do not know his name, and he is a white ghost, but I look forward to running down the steps early in the morning to buy the paper. he calls me a funny name, which I didn't understand at first. When I asked mistress what it meant, she said it was "doll- face". Is that bad?  
  
I shall now practice my English.  
  
My nam  
My name are  
  
My name am is   
My name is xxxxxxxxxxxxx ( omitted by the author )  



	6. 

Chapter6- hickeys  
  
  
Complete and utter chaos was breaking out in the lodging house after dinner. Racetrack, who was just coming home from a spider fight with profit, heard the shouting even before he got through the door. His happy mood ( due to fact that he's actually WON betting on a spider with profit's keen eye and now had pockets filled with coins) was momentarily put to a halt as he dashed up the stairs two at a time. Reaching the top, he'd barely missed being hit squarely in the face with someone's shoe, which had flown from across the room. Ducking in time, he bumped into skittery, who like the other newsies, had assembled in one side of the room. "what the.." he said crossly. Skittery glanced down briefly at race and grimaced. He didn't have to tell him what was going on. The shouting had spoken for itself.  
  
Pagan and jack were having an argument. A huge one, because things were flying everywhere- tin cups, clothes, shoes. whatever the newsies had carelessly left lying around, pagan was now picking up to throw at jack, who was alternately trying to dodge the projectiles and trying to explain something to his very angry girlfriend. Some of the newsies whose things have been used as accessories in the argument, had scampered to retrieve their belongings, grumbling, but not wishing to get involved themselves. Meanwhile, pagan was calling jack every name in the book.  
  
"what did cowboy do?" race muttered to mush, who was sorting out from under a pile of old socks, looking for his. The boy opened his mouth to speak, but race didn't hear the rest of it because a chair had just smashed into a wall.  
  
"take that yah two timin' cheat!" another shoe, boots' , sailed past jack's ear, merely grazing him.  
  
"would youse," jack cried, in futile attempts to calm her down. "would youse just listen tah me?"  
  
  
"youse expect ME to believe that half-assed story? Go tah hell, jack kelly!"  
  
pagan looked around her for more things to throw, but she'd already thrown everything in sight ( which really wasn't much). Frustrated, she stormed off, with jack following behind her, past everyone's stares. As soon as they knew the quarreling couple were outside, they went back to normal, as if nothing had happened at all.  
  
Jack would fix it, thought race. He clapped his hands, fuelled with his day's winnings. The sparkle was back in his eye. "anyone up fah pokah?"  
  
  
  
"anyone know what the fight was all about?" race asked as the cards were being dealt.   
  
Kid blink giggled maniacally before answering. " cowboy's got a hickey and it wasn't pagan dat gave it tah him," he said. "he's busted!"  
  
"no kiddin'?" race said. no wonder pagan was pissed. " who gave it to him, den?"  
  
"wouldja believe da bum doesn't know?" blink continued, finding the whole things very amusing. " he says dah t'ing just appeahed in his sleep. Tawk about lame-o. cowboy's getting' way too soft if yah ask me!"  
  
racetrack snorted in disbelief. "whaddaya mean he don't know? Like her name?"  
  
"ise saying he don't know how he got it!" blink said. " can you believe dat? Any sucka dat got a hickey as huge as dat and didn't feel it gotta be dead from the neck down! Sheesh! The guy's got some noive comin' up wit' a lame excuse like dat."  
  
Racetrack shook his head and made a clucking sound. He was a bit disappointed in jack.  
  
"well, what'chu know about it?" it was skittery. " truth can be stranger than fiction."  
  
"wha?" race said, pulling his cigar out from his mouth. " okay, you wiseguy, how would you explain it? Let's heah yaw version."  
  
Skittery hesitated. Then he pulled up his shirt. He had hickeys all over his chest.  
  
Racetrack's eyes popped out of his head and choked on his cigar. "wheah yah been hangin' out lately, skitts-o? eitha yah got a nasty rash dere, or..." honestly he didn't know what to think.   
  
"wheah'd youse get dose?" kid blink, asked, incredulous. He reached up to touch them, but skittery swatted his hand away.  
  
"in me sleep," he said. The boys weren't sure if he was being sarcastic or not. "jack's tellin' da truth."  
  
"they itchy?" blink persisted.  
  
"naw!" skittery said, irritated. " dumb-ass. Of caws dey don't. I jus wish I coulda been awake to enjoy it." He said, rolling his shirt back down. " some goil's been sneakin' in dis heah lodgin' house when we's all asleep."   
  
"oh yeah?" blink shot back. "how can yah be sure it's a goil?"  
  
Racetrack rolled his eyes. Hoo boy, skittery is getting crazier by the day. "sure, sure, " he said. " we believe youse, skitts-o. we believe youse." He shot one last look at skittery before returning to his cards. Someone sneaking into the lodging house just to give skittery and jack hickeys? it was insane! It was ridiculous. How? Why would anyone want to do that?   
  
  
  
  
Jack and pagan both went to bed without making up. Jack had stuck to his story- the offending kiss marks had appeared mysteriously when he'd woken up in the morning. pagan had retreated to a dead calm and simply refused to talk to him. Before going to bed, she shot all of the newsies an accusing look, which clearly stated, "all men are scum."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. 

Chapter 7- ( the red diary) no umbrella  
  
She is a thief. She is leading a double life. By day she is a diligent student, a quiet worker, a faithful servant. By night, she creeps through the darkness, a lonely hunter…   
  
Physical exhaustion is nothing. It is when we are emotionally troubled that the life is sucked out of our chests. I am tired; the lessons are getting harder and harder everyday, but the bruises I have obtained on my arms and legs are nothing compared to the storm that clouds my mind. On top of that, we must also study our English phrases. We only have an hour or so a day for ourselves, and this is when I take out this little book and write for myself, trying to make sense out of what we are doing, what we are becoming.  
  
Rest is rare here. Mistress goes about as if there are no enough hours in the day to do everything she wants. I don't think she ever gets any sleep at all. At night I see her pacing around her chambers, or else, roaming around the corridors, like a sentinel over her little soldiers.  
  
I should stop talking about these things, for we are forbidden to speak of ( omitted by author). My mind is also getting tired of it- it is so much a part of me, of us, that I want to leave it be. I want to think of other things.   
  
Yesterday, I was coming home from master feung's on an errand mistress sent me to do. On my back I carried the tiger blade wrapped in green velvet. Its weight is a constant reminder of its presence, but I have gotten quite used to carrying it. And I should, for the tiger blade is mine…is going to be mine, once I master it. It started to rain, and so with quite an effort I had managed to open my umbrella, carry the tiger blade and weave through the crowds unnoticed. It's funny how people regard you as invisible when you think you are.  
  
And then as I turned the corner, I saw him. Our newspaper boy, seeking shelter from the rain in a tight spot. His hair was plastered on his forehead, and my heart went out to him immediately. I walked toward him and smiled. I don't think he recognized me, but after a few seconds, his face broke into a small smile. I beckoned him to share my umbrella, and he did.  
  
"thanks," he said, in that funny voice I have now come to look forward to hearing. Then, noticing the heavy looking thing I had slung over my shoulder, made a move to carry it for me. "let me get that for you," he said.  
  
I pulled back my shoulder and shook my head. He looked back at me quizzically, but I had handed him the umbrella instead for him to hold. I would die first before I allow anybody to touch my tiger blade.   
  
We walked on, without speaking. I could feel his eyes stray to look at me, but I kept my head bowed. Suddenly I felt tongue-tied, and, although I was dying to ask him what his name was, I could not find the words to do so.  
  
I walked on, leading the way back to the edge of this town, to where I guessed he was on his way. He asked no questions, and followed my lead.  
  
"well, this is where I get off," the boy said, as we reached the mean between little italy and china town. "thanks for the umbrella." He looked at me like he didn't know what to make of me. " I don't think you gave me your name. I'm anthony. What's you name?"  
  
I looked up at him for the first time. I told him my name, and to this he said, " that's pretty." He smiled at me again, before handing me back my umbrella and making his exit.  
  
I watched him go, scampering once again for shade. I would have brought him to the other side, but mistress didn't like us walking alone across the arches.  
  
Anthony. I said it once to myself before heading back. Anthony. I had his name, at least.  
  
  
I had to hurry back, lest someone see me and tell mistress. This heart has been keeping secrets all its life, and here is yet another…   
  
She has been looking for him in streets she is forbidden to walk on, an intruder in walls she is not welcome in, she knows he is there, but cannot yet see. She knows where he lives. She watches them all sleep, she plants kisses on their bodies. She takes from them without their knowledge. She is a thief. She is a bandit.   
  
The bandit is me.  
  
  



	8. scrapes and shards

Chapter8-  
  
  
"WHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!"  
  
it was mush. Running out from the bathroom, wailing and clutching at his hair, he collided with a drowsy, half-asleep pagan. Panic stricken, he grabbed her shoulders, unaware that he had crashed into her quite violently, thus jarring her awake in a most unpleasant manner. "helpmehelpmehelpmeeee!"  
  
"the f-?" confused, with the sleep forced out of her in the worst way, she blinked back at mush, whose fingers were digging into her arms painfully.  
  
"it's a plague!" the boy screamed.  
  
Jack had come up behind the two of them. "what's goin' on heah? Mush?"  
  
"jack!" mush cried, releasing pagan and moving towards jack, throwing his arms around him, sobbing. Taken aback by the sudden action, jack reached up to the back of his neck to free himself from mush's death grip. "whatevah youse got, ise got too!" he cried. "look!"  
  
and true enough, all over mush's chest and neck were kiss marks identical to skittery's and jack's. jack's confused expression was replaced by that of triumph, as if to say to pagan "I told you so!" it was unspoken , but powerful, and he expected her to concede and apologize for being such a bitch any second now. He wouldn't let her off that easy though, and he thought of making her suffer until bedtime.   
  
The apology jack was expecting did not come. Instead, pagan gave an indignant "tuh!", rolled her eyes and pushed her way past both boys.  
  
  
  
Glowering, jack got dressed. Pagan was really dragging out the argument as far as it would go. More than 24 hours had passed since the hickeys were discovered but she was still refusing to talk to jack. Mush's newly acquired "affliction" did nothing to change her stubborn mind. One would think that with the evidence at hand, pagan would realize she was wrong and jack was right, but all it did was make her all the more suspicious. It was bad enough that she was furious at him, and he didn't even do anything wrong, but the worst part about it was that she didn't really trust him to be telling the truth. Okay, so maybe the truth was a bit outlandish, but it was the truth nonetheless. If she couldn't give him the benefit of the doubt, where did that leave them?  
  
  
  
  
"whatsa mattah? You look like hell," fourth lee said to pagan as they, together with profit and racetrack were having lunch at the noodle store. Pagan shook her head miserably. She didn't feel like talking to anyone, with any boy just yet. Fourth turned to racetrack. "what's up wit' her?"  
  
"she and jack had a fight," racetrack explained, since he was sure they wouldn't be able to get it out of pagan. Lowering his voice ( as if pagan couldn't hear if he did this ), he briefly explained why. Profit's eyes grew wide and fourth looked over to pagan in concern.  
  
"lemme talk tah her," fourth said. "I think I know what's goin' on." Before anyone could react to this, a rather large stone had crashed through the window behind him, followed by several shouts. Fourth jumped, then ducked, urging everyone to get under the table. More stones and bricks were hurled through the shop. Pandemonium seemed to be breaking out in the streets.  
  
Fourth and profit began talking to each other rapidly. Race raised his eyebrows questioningly at pagan, but she shook her head, mouthing, "I don't understand..."  
  
The attack was over as quickly as it started, but to race, it felt like they would be hiding under the table forever.  
  
Fourth's uncle came over to them, gesturing wildly. The lee brothers emerged from under the table, shaken, but unharmed. Fourth shook out the glass shards from his hair as he and his brother talked at once. Fourth turned to race and pagan. "are you okay?" he asked them.  
  
"think so," race said.  
  
"let's go to the back," profit said, looking outside. " it might not be safe here."  
  
Fourth's uncle was apologizing to everyone in the shop, who were still hiding underneath their own tables. Shakily, they all filed out, luckily without any scratches.   
  
"should we go?" pagan asked. Fourth's uncle was looking at her and race like it had been their fault his restaurant was attacked.   
  
Profit shook his head. "it would be safer if you guys stayed here with us," he said.   
  
"why?" pagan asked.   
  
"Looks like the triad is back in business," fourth said grimly.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	9. (the red diary) risk

Chapter9- (the red diary) risk  
  
There is a war breaking out. The sons of the triad have awakened a state of unrest and because of this, we have no choice but to react in the manner we are trained for. When I look around me, I think that our sentiments are the same- we never thought the day would come when we would have to strike. How can there be no middle ground between being protected and being thrust into danger? Without this war, we are prisoners of routine- to study, to train, to keep up this pretense of being helpless. At the very first signal of a threat, we are called upon to take arms. How can there be no middle ground?  
  
It is madness outside. Glass breaking everywhere. The sons of the triad are awake once again. These are the men who will stop at nothing until they get what they want. Ruthless, heartless. I hesitate to call them "men", for they do not deserve to be called that.  
  
Master feung is dead. His body was found this morning in his shop, with everything in it a shambles. Like they were looking for something. This was all in the papers. I could not hide my shock and so, bewildering poor Anthony, burst into tears almost automatically.   
  
"what's the matter?" he asked. He glanced at the paper he could not read, could not understand. And then, I felt something I haven't felt in a long time. Fear.  
  
They were looking for something, I know it. The papers said foul play was involved. I knew better. I knew what they were after. By writing it here I risk everything- my life, the lives of my sisters, and everything I know to be true. Yet try as I might to stop writing, I can't. dangerous as it is, I know this is the right thing to do. I cannot own anything, but let me own my thoughts at least. My hands are shaking with this simple act of defiance, this reclaiming of my thoughts. Before I change my mind, this is what I want to say.  
  
I know who killed feung. The sons of the triad killed him, yet everybody here pretends not to know. The most important thing is always the one thing everyone is afraid to say. The sons of the triad killed him looking for one thing and one thing only. I know they did not find it there. And I know master feung did not tell them where it is. The sons of the triad will never find it now.   
  
Because it is with me.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	10. a lil note from the author

Hi everyone,   
Sorry I haven't been updating any new chapters. I am so freaking busy. As in. I never get any sleep now. I will probably remove this page soon, but this is just a lil flare to let everyone know I'm still here, and yup, yup I do have intentions of finishing up this story. It's taking arrest in my head, but I can't let it go unfinished. :) it may take a while, though . Since it's a race fic, let me take this opportunity to say- HEY RACE!!!! It's yah boitday! It's max cassela's birthday, people!  
:)  
have a good one, everybody  
whatever the weather,  
danisha  



	11. got a light?

Chapter 10 - got a light?   
  
Racetrack had never felt so well in his life. He'd been winning bets left and right lately. He wasn't used to feeling so lucky, having spent almost a lifetime being on the losing end of every wager. The feeling was new and different; almost as if someone had finally decided to open the door and let Racetrack Higgins in. he knew part of it was thanks to profit's excellent business skills. That kid really knew his stuff when it came to money. He recalled that first day he took profit to the tracks. That's where it all started for him, really.   
  
But even when profit lee was not around, racetrack still had an uncanny lucky streak. He didn't know what turn of luck it was, but he prayed that it wouldn't change too soon. Not when he was just getting used to it.   
  
Something else had also happened to him, apart from the newfound good luck with the bets. He never thought he'd ever be fortunate in matters of the heart, but for the first time, racetrack felt like he just won the biggest prize of all- and it wasn't money. The true prize came in the form of a girl from across the arches of Chinatown.   
  
From out of his pocket, racetrack took out the small pale green stone attached to a thin strip of leather. Dangling in the moonlight, the stone cast a cool halo around itself. Racetrack stared at it, mesmerized by its radiance and beauty. Racetrack knew that he had fallen in love with the girl who had given this to him, and it made him feel so sad to not even know her name.   
  
And yet, when he would see her on certain days, she would give him a smile as radiant as the stone's mysterious glow. He didn't know if she could even understand anything he told her, but he kept talking to her anyway, because she smiled and nodded at him as though she could. He called her "doll face" in the beginning, but now he longed to call her by her true name.   
  
Racetrack, lost in his reverie, didn't even notice pagan join him by the ledge for an evening smoke.   
  
"got a light, race?" pagan said, plopping next to him.   
  
Instinctively, racetrack put the stone back into his pocket. He felt that he couldn't bring himself to share it with anyone just yet. Not even with pagan, who was one of his best friends, and the reason why he met his beautiful radiant girl. He pulled out some matches and reached over to light pagan's cigarette.  
  
Pagan graciously accepted the light and puffed contentedly. For a short while, none of them said anything. They just sat there, enjoying the cool breeze, the light of the moon and their evening smoke. It was then that racetrack realized that he missed pagan. Apart from selling together, they never really got to talk anymore. This was the first time in a long while that they found each other on the ledge at the same time. He felt the urge to give pagan a brotherly hug, but thought better of it. boy, he thought, am I feeling extra mushy tonight!   
  
Instead he said, " so, you and jack still not speaking to each other?"   
  
"yeah, well..." pagan said, looking back at the window behind them. "I don't know what to think, race. I really don't."  
  
she looked so forlorn, racetrack's heart went out to her. He lightly flicked her chin.   
  
Pagan paused. Then, "how are you, race?" she asked. " I mean, really. How are you?"  
  
Racetrack peered into her face. She had on that smile that he was always such a sucker for. He would've melted at the sight of it in the moonlight, but now she just looked like she should: a very dear and trusted friend. And he realized that he missed talking to her. Really talking to her.   
  
He took a deep breath, smiled, and took out a fresh cigar.   
  
They sure had some catching up to do. 


End file.
